


viva la vida

by iphido



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Manga Spoilers, Tokyo 2021 Olympics, ft. atsumu for part of it but this aint about him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphido/pseuds/iphido
Summary: I wanted a lot more from you than your serve.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 31
Kudos: 368





	viva la vida

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i dont know what olympic afterparties are like. just roll with it.  
> disclaimer 2: there's some dirty talk in spanish and italian. im not fluent in either language so sorry if its like.. awkward to native speakers XDD lmk if its way too jarring while reading. the translations r in the endnote but i think they're somewhat self-explanatory
> 
> i imagine this is in the same timeline that [my poem](https://twitter.com/divinedogz/status/1319169804163452929) is. please enjoy!! :D

* * *

It’d been years since loss had been able to chip at Tobio’s psyche the way it did in high school. He’d given hundreds of tosses and scored hundreds of points in just as many sets; since going pro, he’d lost about half of them.

Despite his disappointment at losing _this_ game, he found himself—his body, his spirit, his mind—light. Not weightless, but free. Like an electron circling the nucleus of an atom. Ready to split off and make something ionic. It was only uphill from here. Anyway, if the “monster generation,” as they were lovingly dubbed by the press, had to lose to anyone, he was glad that it was—

“Shittykawa, get off me!”

Tobio sipped at his water, twirling a little in his stool at the bar. Iwaizumi-san was a few meters away, standing next to Ushijima-san, trying to shake off the star player of their match earlier today.

Under the multicolored lights flashing magenta and yellow and Seijoh blue, Oikawa looked, for lack of a better word, beautiful. He glowed, whether from the win or the alcohol or the company, though it was probably a combination of all three. His mouth moved. He was a little too far for Tobio to hear what he was saying. Ushijima raised an amused eyebrow and Iwaizumi gave a fond scowl, so it was most likely some form of gloating. Ushijima sent his level gaze down at both of them, asking a serious question. Iwaizumi thumped Oikawa on the back and grinned.

Tobio’s fingers tingled. They’d shaken hands after the final set, palms sweaty and warm and solid…

“Tobio-kun, it’s getting painful to watch you.”

He looked over. Atsumu was nursing a beer in the seat next to him, that lopsided smile of his plastered on his face. It was good-natured, though; Tobio had learned the difference. “What do you mean,” Tobio said.

“Just go over there.” Atsumu raised his bottle and gestured. “Haven’t you known them for, like, ten years?”

“They’re having a conversation.”

“And you can _join it_.”

“It’d be intruding,” Tobio said. Ushijima had been his teammate for years, and Iwaizumi texted him on a semi-regular basis, but he couldn’t join them. They didn’t know what he and Oikawa-san knew. Or rather, what he and Oikawa-san had done.

Atsumu scoffed through his nose and shook his head, smiling. “Suit yourself. In a month, Oikawa-sama will be halfway across the globe again, but sure, sit here in silence with me.”

“Am I bad company, Atsumu-san?”

“Nah. Shin’s rubbed off on me, I like the silence. Silence being relative.”

Music blasted and boomed all around them. Most of it Korean pop, though there was the occasional reggaeton or bachata or American Top 40 song. Hinata had gone off with a couple of Brazilian athletes an hour ago. Sakusa-san, predictably, was in his hotel room, probably sound asleep or watching a travel documentary to relax. The rest of their team was scattered around the plaza, dancing or shouting or finding a warm body for the night.

He glanced back. Oikawa’s profile was thrown back in laughter, his grin wide and open, his eyes crinkled and warm. Tobio could hear it from his spot: the melodic, light sound. He’d only made Oikawa laugh like that once, on a restaurant patio in Rome, and it hadn’t even been _his_ fault; he’d just quoted Hinata and caused that small bit of wonder.

His chest ached suddenly. He swiveled his chair and faced the bar fully. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of reach.

“I think I’ll turn in for the night, Atsumu-san,” he mumbled before he chugged the rest of his water.

Atsumu flicked his wrist and glanced at his watch. “Alright. So will I.”

“Are you sure? You could find Ojiro-san and dance a little.”

“Aran’s probably surrounded by a swarm of fit women and men. Besides,” Atsumu held up the back of his hand and wiggled his fingers. The gold band glinted in the light. “I’m a kept man now, Tobio-kun.” He threw back his beer and finished it, hopped off his stool, and slung an arm around Tobio’s shoulders. Tobio stumbled off his seat. “Let’s say bye to Iwa-san first, though.”

 _Shit_ , Tobio thought. He let himself be dragged. “Just Iwaizumi-san?”

Atsumu simply smirked. When they reached the small huddle, he cleared his throat. They turned to them both. With his free hand, Atsumu saluted. “Tobio-kun and I are beat. We’re gonna head back up.”

Tobio locked eyes with Oikawa-san and looked quickly away. “ _Oyasumi_ ,” he mumbled. He felt distinctly fifteen.

Ushijima reached over and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “You played well today, Tobio. And you, Atsumu.”

“Thank you,” Tobio said. Beside him, Atsumu nodded.

Iwaizumi lifted his hand and ruffled Tobio’s hair. “Not bad for your second Olympics,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Almost against his own will he lifted his eyes, waiting.

“It was an honor to beat my precious kouhai,” Oikawa said. Tobio didn’t know what to make of his smile.

“Likewise, Oikawa-san.” He left it at that, lest he say something worse.

“Well,” Atsumu said, “We’ll see you all in the morning. _Oyasumi_.” He pulled Tobio with him and together they weaved through the throngs of people back to their hotel tower.

 _That’s it?_ Tobio thought, but what was “it” exactly? He’d reached the world stage, and with Hinata, no less. He had the utmost confidence that they’d be in Paris in 2024, and that Oikawa-san would be there too. They’d play each other in World too, probably. So why—

“Earth to Tobio,” Atsumu said in his ear. They were in the long hallway that led to the residential elevators. People talked or laughed or made out along the walls.

“Sorry, Atsumu-san. What were you saying?”

“‘Sokay. Doesn’t really matter.” Atsumu dropped his arm from Tobio’s shoulders and stretched his hands into the air, yawning. “I really am beat, though. Argentina gave as good as they got.”

“So did we.”

“Yeah. We give our all, they give their all, and sometimes theirs is stronger than ours.” He sighed and used the knuckle of his middle finger to press the elevator call button. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I got to play with you. I learned a lot from you.”

It was a far cry from the boy who’d called him a goody-two-shoes, all those years ago. Awash with gratitude, Tobio turned to face Atsumu and bowed. “I’m glad you’re my teammate, Miya-san.”

Atsumu’s laughter was hearty and deep. “Jeez, no wonder Samu calls me a sap. I didn’t mean for you to bow to me.” He nudged Tobio up and smiled. “Next time, you and I will get gold, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tobio said.

The elevator dinged and the doors glided open. There was no one inside, so Tobio followed Atsumu into the car. He pressed number eighteen, the floor where all of the Japan Men’s National Volleyball Team’s rooms were. Just before the doors closed, a voice called out.

“Hold the door, please!”

Tobio went rigid. Atsumu jerked forward to press the open button.

Who else but Oikawa-san came running to the elevator, only slightly out of breath. “Thank you.” He came to stand next to Tobio. He smelled like open air and Tom Ford Acqua; Tobio read the fragrance in a magazine and, against his better judgment, had purchased a bottle of his own.

“Oikawa-senshu,” said Atsumu, as pleasant as Tobio had ever heard him. “What floor?”

“What a coincidence! Eighteen, as well.”

Tobio swallowed. He didn’t look at Oikawa, only Atsumu, who was looking back. “I’m actually going to the fifteenth,” Atsumu said, pressing the button. “I hear the ice machine is better there. Tobio-kun can take you to the eighteenth.”

 _What the hell are you doing?_ Tobio wanted to ask. He held his tongue. The elevator whirred to life.

“Yes, _Tobio-kun_ ,” Oikawa repeated. Tobio suppressed a cringe; it sounded wrong. The heat of his senpai reached Tobio’s skin. “That was an impressive play, Miya-san, in the fourth set, when they brought you in.”

“Ah. Our setter switch.”

“Setter switch!” Oikawa echoed. “Tell me, did you steal that play from Tobio-chan’s Karasuno days? What was the name of your senpai, Tobio-chan?”

“S-” He tried again. “Sugawara-san.”

“Yes, Refreshing-kun, with that wild silver hair. What is he doing now?”

“He’s a teacher at an elementary school.” He kept his eyes resolutely on the flashing number: seven, nine, eleven, why were elevators so fast? “He probably watched our match with my other senpai,” Tobio found himself saying.

“I should hope so. _My_ friends definitely cheered me on.”

Fourteen, fifteen. The car slowed to a stop. Tobio looked at the floor. “This is me,” said Atsumu. _Traitor_. “Until next time, Oikawa-san. Night, Tobio-kun.”

“Goodnight, Atsumu-san,” Tobio said.

“Have a good night, Miya-san.” Oikawa waved his hand once, and Atsumu was gone. Tobio hoped he tripped in the stairwell.

The doors closed. Tobio had never known what to do under the full force of Oikawa’s undivided attention, even less now that it’d been two years since they were alone together. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, though, so he flitted his gaze up to meet Oikawa’s head-on. The elevator was brighter than it was outside. Oikawa looked good under every kind of lighting, even though the bulb above them was harsh and washed everything out. He leaned on the handrail and said nothing. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. The car stopped and the doors opened.

“Lead the way, Tobio.” Oikawa’s voice was soft. Tobio’s heart thumped in his chest. He wasn’t sure what to expect, what to hope for. 

“Where?”

“Where else? Your room.”

“Okay.” He stepped out, down the hall to Room 1809, Oikawa’s steady footsteps behind him. He tugged his keycard out of his back pocket and opened the door.

“You’re on a given-name basis with Miya,” Oikawa noted as they entered the room.

“He insisted. He’s been calling me Tobio for seven years.” Tobio put his keycard on the kitchenette island, turned on the lights, and went to the fridge for the pitcher of water.

“How long have _I_ been calling you Tobio?”

Tobio filled up two glasses. “Ten years. Twelve?” There was that strange ache in his chest again.

“We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“Yes. We went over this in Rome.” He slid a glass across the granite countertop.

Oikawa accepted it and took a sip. “Rome,” he said, and left it at that.

The word hung in the space between them. There were a lot of things Tobio could say to that. _I don’t know how to act around you anymore_. It used to be easy: try his hand at politeness, and if Oikawa-san responded harshly, he’d just snap back and they’d fall into the same routine they’d had since he was thirteen. But in Rome, he took Oikawa to a _trattoria_ , then he took Oikawa home, and Oikawa _apologized_ , and then they’d—

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Tobio blinked, both relieved and startled by the sudden change in topic. “I had two fingers of whiskey and a shot of shochu. That was around eight.”

“Then before we get started, I want to say,” Oikawa pushed his glass away from him and splayed both of his hands on the countertop. His eyes were so brown. “I’m proud of you, Tobio.”

Tobio’s face didn’t crumple. It never crumpled. But maybe his throat did on itself. Maybe Oikawa had wrapped a hand around his neck with those words and squeezed something deep and unnameable out of him. “You said that already. In Rome,” he croaked.

“I’m talking about now. I’ve never fought as hard as I did against you today.”

“Oikawa-san,” he whispered. “Me neither. You— you were brilliant, your serve, I’ve never seen anything like it,” how could he put the rest into words, the rush of blood to the head, their eyes always on each other, sending a perfect toss to Hinata so he could give Oikawa-san a challenge, two kings at war, what would he do next, where would the toss go, show him what you’re made of.

He blinked and Oikawa was in front of him, in all his glory and brilliance, hands hovering by Tobio’s neck. “Tobio,” he said, then Tobio gripped the crisp fabric of his shirt and brought their mouths together with a moan.

It was the same as he remembered. Soft lips, because Oikawa always carried Nivea lip balm, only instead of Cabernet he tasted like rice wine. The _ever-so-slight_ tilt of Tobio’s head downward—and that was a shock, the first time, finding out that Tobio was taller, for in all his adolescent fantasies he’d imagined reaching up. They breathed through their noses and licked at each other, wrapped their arms around one another. Tobio was holding on for life; Oikawa was holding him together. He made a small noise and had never sounded so weak.

“I missed this,” said Oikawa into Tobio’s mouth. It set a hummingbird off in his chest. “Did you? Or have you forgotten already, Tobio-chan? Too many _belle donne_ in Italy?”

He kissed Oikawa again. “I’m insulted you think I could forget about us.”

“Us.”

“You. Me. Whatever.”

“I don’t mind you saying _us_. So you remember… this?” He dipped his head and Tobio felt the shock of his tongue in the dip of his collarbone.

 _Every night_ , Tobio almost said. “Yes,” he said instead. The granite dug into his back.

“This too?” Oikawa mumbled, mouthing up Tobio’s neck. He stopped at the sweet spot, the same one they’d discovered last time.

“Yes. I remember everything.” His knees were weak. “Do you remember this, Oikawa-san?” He pulled on Oikawa’s soft hair, arched his hips forward into Oikawa’s own.

Oikawa gasped and pressed his open mouth to Tobio’s cheek. They grinded for a little while. He had the finest professional athlete on earth moving against him, breathing on his skin. There were dozens of Olympians in a one-mile radius, yet Oikawa-san had chosen to be in _his_ hotel room.

“I want to fuck you, Tobio,” Oikawa said in his ear. Tobio almost fell over.

“Y-yes, god, please,” he managed.

Oikawa drew back and stopped moving. “Have you ever let anyone fuck you?”

“Yes,” Tobio said. A few times.

Was it foolish to believe that was disappointment on Oikawa’s face? “I won’t ask who. I’m afraid of who your answer will be.”

Tobio let out a puff of laughter. “I haven’t slept with Ushijima-san.”

“Don’t say his name while I’m hard,” Oikawa grumbled. “And I wasn’t talking about him.” He didn’t elaborate, pulling him into a kiss instead, a bit less hurried than before. “Do you have stuff? Lube? I have condoms, I was getting them from the vending machine before I joined you in the elevator.”

Tobio had all of it. It’d been wishful thinking to consider buying lubricant at all, but Hinata told him he’d need it, and Hinata’s instincts were usually right when it came to sex. He nodded, held Oikawa’s face in his hands. After a few weeks of living here, he already knew the exact layout of his suite, so he tugged Oikawa smoothly with him past the small living room to the bedroom.

The first time they’d done this, neither of them had fucked the other. In his modest _bilocale_ , a little past sunset, he sat with Oikawa on his couch for a long time while they spoke about geniuses and kings and partners who were also your rivals. _I’m sorry I never taught you how to serve, and I’m sorry I never tried to understand you when that’s all you ever wanted from me_ , Oikawa had said.

 _It’s alright, I never asked for an apology_ , Tobio had said.

 _Just because you don’t ask for one doesn’t mean you don’t deserve one_.

 _It’s alright, Oikawa-san._ He didn’t say _I wanted a lot more from you than your serve_.

And because he’d wanted Oikawa-san since before he knew what it meant to want someone, the simple brush of Oikawa’s lips against his sent him into overdrive. He’d trembled while Oikawa kissed him and took both their cocks in his hand and brought them both to orgasm. Oikawa learned this about him, too, how quickly he could come if he cared enough about the other person. He was a little embarrassed about it, but he’d used his mouth on Oikawa in the morning, so they were even.

Tobio was in good hands. The best hands. Hands that pushed him onto the bed in his hotel room and took off his clothes while he pulled at Oikawa’s own. Hands that touched the hard ridges of his body and searched for which spots made him grit his teeth against a moan. He did some exploring of his own, sweeping across planes of warm, tan skin, all muscled like the _David_.

Oikawa’s hands dipped inside him and opened him up. Tobio stared into his eyes and tasted phantom honey on his tongue. There was a particular sweetness about the act, weaved in among the deliberation, the care, the attention. He shivered and jolted, fisting tight the already-rumpled sheets, and felt like he was keeping a secret. When would they do this again? Would they at all? He spit into his hand and reached for Oikawa’s cock, then drew his face near so they could kiss once more, so Oikawa could taste the honey too.

“Tobio,” said Oikawa. His hand between Tobio’s legs didn’t stop moving.

“Oikawa-san,” he breathed.

“C-call me Tooru? The people on my team call me Tooru.”

The request made his head swim. “Tooru-san,” he tried.

“Fuck,” said Oikawa. He pulled out and away gently; Tobio’s hand fell to the bed. “Where are the fucking condoms.” He leaned over diagonally, grabbing his pants from the floor, and plucked a roll of them from one of the pockets.

Tobio reached for the lube on the bedside table, poured some on his fingers, slipped them inside himself, testing. Oikawa was struggling to open the first wrapper. He glanced over when Tobio’s breath hitched and glared. “It’s not fair the way you look when you do that.”

If he wasn’t already flushed, Tobio was sure he would have at that moment. “Any day now, Oik— Tooru-san.”

“Shut up, my hands are sticky, brat,” Oikawa said, though the bite was missing. He got it open, rolled it on, and Tobio had the lube ready to drizzle on.

He lay back and told himself to remain in the present moment. If he thought too hard about who the man between his legs was, what they were to each other and what they’d done, he might finish too fast like last time.

Oikawa curled a hand over Tobio’s shoulder, up the nape, buried it in his hair. The other wrapped around his thigh, holding it up. Tobio held onto Oikawa’s wrist and rested his free hand at his waist.

Oikawa leaned down to kiss him. “Is this okay, Tobio?”

“I don’t care what position you fuck me in,” he said.

Oikawa hummed. “We’ll see. There’s still time to figure out what you like.” He pumped himself a few times, and when Tobio’s hand tightened around his wrist, started to fuck him.

Oikawa was just as skilled in bed as he was on the court, and Tobio couldn’t catch his breath. He paid attention to every reaction, whether Tobio arched his back or tightened around him or clawed at his obliques. He fucked him so good and hard that they were soaked in sweat and Tobio was sure he’d never forget any of it.

“God, look at you,” said Oikawa above him. “ _Besarte es una alegría. Cogerte es un alegría._ ”

Tobio wracked his brain for the little Spanish he knew, found he couldn’t translate, and responded in turn. “ _Ti prego,_ _non fermarti, di più._ ”

Oikawa bared his teeth, beautiful, white, and sharp. “Get on top, I want you to ride me.”

Tobio groaned and obliged, rolling them both over. Though his thighs and abs burned with exertion, the look on Oikawa’s face watching him let him know this was worth the loss, worth the wait both before and after, whether they’d repeat this tomorrow or in a year or never again. Oikawa kissed down his neck and his chest and tongued his nipples as Tobio bounced and gasped.

“ _Tan bueno_ ,” Oikawa said against his shoulder. He tugged Tobio by the chin for a kiss. “ _Te gusta_ , Tobio?”

That, he understood. “ _Si_.”

Oikawa kissed him, wrapped his arms around Tobio’s waist so tight he had to stop moving. “Let’s just kiss for a while. I don’t want it to end too fast.” Tobio almost felt that was a jab at him and stiffened. Oikawa coaxed his shoulders back down with a smile against his mouth, and they kissed some more.

But almost all they’d done last time was kiss. Tobio wanted to _come_. “Tooru-san, finish what you started. Don’t you have a match tomorrow?”

“ _So demanding_.” Oikawa flipped them over again and fucked into him. “If anything, this is giving me strength.”

That wasn’t how bodies worked, but Tobio was touched anyway. “Come inside me and give _me_ strength.”

“You little—!” Oikawa’s rhythm stumbled. He tucked his face into Tobio’s neck. “Tobio-chan, Tobio _mio_. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Tobio stared at the ceiling in wonder. _Tobio mio_. “Harder.”

“So demanding,” Oikawa said again, obeying, shifting his hips, meeting his mark. The head of his cock bumped Tobio’s prostate with every thrust. By virtue of it being Oikawa-san inside him, Tobio was a lit fuse from the get-go. The pleasure rose suddenly and rapidly, as it usually did when he got fucked. He flung his arms over Oikawa’s back and held him.

“T-Tooru-san,” he choked. There had never been anyone as close to him as Oikawa was at this moment. The rising tide inside him was years in the making.

“Are you close?” Oikawa’s voice was all around him. “Come for me.”

“What about you?” Tobio rasped, scarcely holding on. “I want us to come together.”

“We will.” Somehow, Oikawa-san hadn’t slowed. He barely seemed fazed. “Eventually. Did you think this is the only time you’re coming tonight?”

Evidently, Tobio did. He just couldn’t admit it before his orgasm washed over him, the first of many.

* * *

“Please stop looking at me like that, Atsumu-san.”

Tobio pulled his hat, a spare Onigiri Miya one from Atsumu’s luggage, further down so it shadowed his face. Atsumu kept gawking at him. More specifically, the garden on his neck.

“He practically mauled you! Tobio-kun, I feel sorta bad for leaving you alone now.” Atsumu’s voice was too loud. Hinata was even worse.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Yamayama-kun?” On both of his apple cheeks, Hinata had painted the Brazilian flag. “Can the Grand King still bend down to receive? Can he even walk?”

“I’m _okay_ ,” mostly, “and it was the other way around,” Tobio grumbled. “Shut up, you’re drawing attention to us.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” said Atsumu. He was right; people were trying and failing to discreetly take photos of the three of them. Their other teammates were either scattered throughout the stands or still in their rooms. “I realize it’s useless to ask either of you, but who are you betting on?”

In the most anticipated volleyball match of the games, Brazil and Argentina were about to fight for gold. Both teams were in huddles on their side of the court. The coaches were talking to the refs. Part of Tobio wished it could be him on that court. A larger part knew, in four years, it _would_ be him.

“ _Vida longa ao Brasil!_ ” cheered Hinata.

Argentina’s number thirteen was in the center of his huddle, deep in tactics mode. As always, his kneepads were mismatched, his hair styled to perfection. Even from this distance, Tobio saw his eyes blazed with full concentration, full awareness of his self, his team, his temporary foes.

“Oikawa-san will win,” Tobio said.

“You mean Argentina.”

“Yeah, Argentina.”

“Well, Tobio,” said Atsumu, “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Argentina had the first serve. The crowds roared and swelled with their support. Oikawa-san strode to the back right of the court. He held the ball palm-up, closed his eyes, sighed. The whistle blew.

The serve toss was perfect, the collision with his palm flawless. _Service ace!_ Cheering erupted. Atsumu cursed beside him. “Shit, that’s the monster serve from yesterday!”

Tobio knew two things. The first, he told his seatmates. “No, it’s worse.” Somehow. It made him want to gnash his teeth.

The second, he kept to himself:

There’d be an Olympic gold medalist in his bed tonight, and they’d celebrate all night long.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish/Italian in order:  
> \- _Besarte es una alegría. Cogerte es un alegría._ :: Kissing you is a joy. Fucking you is a joy.  
> \- _Ti prego, non fermarti, di più._ :: Please, don't stop, harder.  
> \- _Tan bueno. Te gusta, Tobio?_ :: So good. Do you like it, Tobio?  
> \- _Si._ :: Yes.  
> \- Tobio _mio_ :: my Tobio  
> \+ (brazilian portuguese) _Vida longa ao Brasil_ :: Long live Brazil
> 
> ANYWAY thanks for reading mwah ! leave kudos or comment if u made it here –3– and yea the title's from the song of the century aka viva la vida by coldplay
> 
>  **slight alterations on 11.3.20** to accommodate ahem their 2.9cm height difference


End file.
